


the grief that's only mine

by Lyre (Lyrecho)



Category: Tales of the Abyss
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, I'm so sorry, Oneshot, Post Game, Pre Epilogue, So Uh You Know, Spoilers, The Major Character Death Is A Canon One, semi canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:15:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25874950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyrecho/pseuds/Lyre
Summary: Guy's coping. Really. He is.(He isn't.)|Tumblr||Twitter|
Relationships: Guy Cecil & Luke fon Fabre
Comments: 12
Kudos: 32





	the grief that's only mine

**Author's Note:**

> another fic from a prompt i got on twitter; unfortunately, i feel like i didn't quite catch the cheerful vibe i think the prompt was going for, but i do not control the inspo. the inspo controls me.

When Luke --

After Luke --

...When everything’s said and done, there’s only one single, simple (slightly hysterical) thought left running on a frantic repeat in Guy’s mind: _Luke’s left behind a mess again._

Except the mess isn’t anything as simple or easy to fix as a pile of laundry, or unsorted supplies, or mud tracked all over the carpet. It’s Guy, frozen. It’s Tear, sobbing.

It’s all of them, grieving, and Guy can’t fix this, can’t fix them. Can’t clean up the mess with a smile and then turn to Luke and half-heartedly scold him just to catch the tail end of an eye roll before he brings out the kicked puppy eyes.

It’s that thought that breaks him. His frozen legs snap in half, and he breathes for what must be the first time in hours as he falls to his knees. Tear is crying, but Guy can’t, he _can’t._ He gasps for air and tries to choke down his screams.

A hand, on his shoulder. Jade, tugging him back to his feet, gently guiding him along, just like Anise is doing for Tear and Natalia, all three girls inconsolable and yet still consoling each other. Jade’s the most composed of all of them, which doesn’t surprise Guy, and yet even his eyes don’t look completely dry. He blinks, and that shine of tears that threaten to fall is gone.

Probably just the moon reflecting off of his glasses. Guy doesn’t know what he was thinking, believing that _Jade Curtis_ would be crying over -- over Luke’s --

He stumbles, again, over himself, over his grief, over the ground that shouldn’t be solid under him anymore. Jade’s hand on his shoulder shifts to a firm grip under his arm, and then he’s not being guided along so much as _dragged._

Luke had made a lot of messes throughout his life, and it had always been Guy’s job to clean them up. This mess, he thinks, thinking of himself, might just be the greatest mess his friend had ever left behind.

And he doesn’t think he’ll be able to clean himself up.

-x-

They tell the fon Fabre’s the fate of their son -- _sons_ \-- as a group, if you can say that the rest of them standing around in grief-stricken shock while Jade coolly details just what had happened as quickly and efficiently as he can counts as a group effort.

There are other people in the room, Guy knows -- but he can’t pay attention to them. His only focus is on the Duke and his Lady.

Lady Susanne had broken down almost the exact moment they’d returned without either of her children. Right now, she sits slumped, pale and dazed, eyes blank and her hand gripping her husband’s so tight Guy thinks his fingers are probably broken.

God, does he hope that they’re broken. Grief fragments his mind, and as he stands there and stares and stares and stares at the cold, unflinching face of the man he’s spent half his life hating, he wants him dead more than ever, and he wants him dead by _his hand._

He hadn’t reacted at all to the lack or either Luke or Asch in the returning party. He hadn’t reacted at all to Jade confirming their _heroic deaths._

Guy wants to kill him. Wants to make his way up to the front of the room and scream into his face _you never deserved to be his father, I came to Baticul to kill you and I never quite got there in all those years, but I’m there now, I’m fucking there now and I’m going to rip you apart, you stone-hearted bastard --_

He closes his eyes. Breathes as deep as he can, through the broken, poisoned thorns of grief that have taken root in his lungs. Tries to be anywhere else but _here._

As much as Guy hates him, Luke had loved his father. He can honour that. He _can._

He pulls Jade aside that night, after they’re dismissed and, exhausted, are finding their way to their rooms, before morning breaks and reality sinks in once again and they all have to figure out how to live on -- live on in a world that isn’t ending, in a world without the Score.

Without Luke.

Jade simply raises a brow at him, and waits.

“When you go back to Grand Chokmah,” Guy says. “I’m coming with you. I -- I can’t…” He falters, and can’t continue, can’t spit out the words _I can’t stay in Baticul._

“You’re a noble of Malkuth,” Jade points out, voice neutral. “If you wish to return home, you may. I can’t very well stop you, now can I? Of course,” he continues on, and adjusts his glasses, a tic that Luke had asked Guy about once -- _he only does it when he wants to be intimidating!_ He’d exclaimed, and Guy had laughed, and this hurts to think about, Luke’s smile burning into his mind, _stop thinking about this --_ “I was planning to be in Baticul for Luke’s memorial, at the very least. Were you not?”

If Jade had been anyone else, Guy is absolutely certain he would have killed him. As it is, the only thing that saves Jade from a broken nose is Luke’s voice in the back of Guy’s mind: _Jade is just_ like _this, Guy, don’t let him get to you._

“Of course I’ll be there,” Guy croaks out, and his voice is shattered. “He was my --”

He has no idea how to end that sentence, no idea what he was trying to say.

 _My best friend?_ True, but not quite right. It’s shallow, doesn’t encompass all that Guy feels -- felt -- for Luke.

 _My ward, my master, my duty, my responsibility?_ Yes, yes, yes, but no, no, no.

There’s one word that fits, and the pity that’s so horrifyingly clear in Jade’s eyes -- it’s not sympathy, no, never, Guy refuses to call it that -- that it’s obvious he, too, knows what it is that Guy won’t call Luke, won’t _allow_ himself to call Luke, because that will just make his failure so much worse, so much more painful.

“Luke,” he finally settles on out loud, voice lost. Helpless. “He was _Luke.”_

“Yes,” Jade says quietly. “I suppose he was.”

-x-

Guy doesn’t remember the memorial service.

He never wants to.

-x-

After all is said and done, Guy returns to where he never thought he would: Malkuth. Peony offers him lands and titles -- including the ones that were technically still his, the ones he’d been born for -- but Guy turns them down. He’s a noble of Malkuth, sure, but he’s a broken one. He’s been living out of the Empire for most of his adult life, and to be frank, he doesn’t actually care about it that much. He’s just here because of what it’s not -- _Baticul._

Peony, at least, seems to understand this, so he doesn’t press the issue -- just grins and says he’ll ‘put Guy to work, then.’

It’s not so bad. He was already used to menial work at the fon Fabre household. This is a bit more intensive -- he’s training recruits and doing stupid amounts of paperwork instead of gardening and looking after Lu-

He stops the thought there. It’s how he’s getting through each day. If he thinks about Luke, he’s going to breakdown, and he can’t let himself break down, because he doesn’t think he’ll be able to build himself back up from the foundations again.

His attendants and trainees call him _Lord Gardios,_ and after so many years of being Guy Cecil it’s disorienting, to say the least, but it also makes things easier on him. Gailardia Galan Gardios had never known Luke fon Fabre, just like Luke had never known him. If he pulls on the mantle of Lord Gardios, it makes it easier to to get through each day. To not feel the grief.

 _That’s not healthy,_ Luke tells him.

 _Yeah, well, you’re dead,_ Guy thinks back, and wants to cry.

A knock at the door. “Lord Gardios? I have the files you wanted on next month’s budget…”

He sighs, and pulls himself together. “Bring it in,” he says.

-x-

Days turn into weeks turn into months, and Guy experiences it all through a haze of grief. Tear and Natalia send him letters; he never answers them. Never even opens them.

There’s a part of him that thinks he’s being silly -- of course they’re hurting too, of course they’re grieving, too...but, he can’t help but think that none of them are grieving like he is grieving, none of them are in as much pain as he is. Their time with Luke was _nothing_ compared to his -- even Natalia, who had spent most of her time with Luke trying to make him into _someone else._ It’s Guy that taught Luke how to read, how to walk, to eat, to talk, taught him his first fumbling steps with a sword, long before Van had been called in. It’s Guy that had spent hours making him laugh, tucked him into bed and sung him to sleep in those early years. It’s Guy that had washed and cleaned and tended to his grazes and his bruises. It’s Guy who had raised him, it’s _Guy_ who had lost his --

His Luke. His Luke, his Luke, his Luke, nothing more and nothing less. He can’t think of Luke as anything but _Luke,_ it will _break him --_

It’s silly, and petty, and possibly even cruel of him, to resent the friends he’d travelled with, for moving on with their lives while he feels like he’s still drowning in grief and will never reach land again, but it is what it is, and he can’t help it. He’s even avoiding _Jade,_ and he lives in the same palace the man spends a good chunk of his life in.

Jade allows him this, for a while, because Guy knows that if Jade _really_ wanted to be unavoidable, he was more than capable of it. At some point, though, he apparently gets fed up with Guy playing ghost, and that’s how he finds himself getting dragged to Peony’s private study for drinks.

“Guy!” Peony cheers, reclining on a leather couch with rappigs clambering all over him. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever, my friend.”

Guy nods politely. “Your Majesty,” he greets, his attention turning to the two rappigs that have come over to snuffle at him curiously. He ignores Peony’s scoff. “Which ones are these, again?”

“That one there is my precious Jade -- you should know this by now, Gailardia,” Peony scolds, winking at Guy as Jade sighs and slumps, just slightly, shaking his head as he goes to pour himself a drink. “And that one --” he gestures at the smaller of the two “-- is Luke! Really, you’ve been too far too busy with work if you’re forgetting the names of my babies, Guy. I should give you a vacation. You could drag Jade with you! Big Jade, of course. Not my precious baby.”

It’s Jade’s turn to scoff, but Guy barely hears it over the thundering of his own heartbeat clamouring in his ears. _Luke,_ Peony had said, and of course Guy had known that Peony had named a rappig after him -- had probably named one each after all of them, honestly -- but...but, still…

His vision swims. A shuddering gasp, and he looks back up, because he can’t look at the little animal pawing at his shoe anymore, not without...he doesn’t even know.

Reality resettles, and the room’s gone silent. Jade and Peony exchange a loaded look.

“Guy,” Peony says, and while it’s definitely still _Peony,_ there’s shades of _His Majesty_ in his tone. “Please, sit.” He gestures to the settee across from him.

Guy sits.

“Have a drink,” Peony says, and before Guy can blink, Jade’s shoving one under his nose. He takes it on autopilot.

“Drink,” Peony says, and he drinks.

The rest of the night is a bit of a blur. Guy sinks into the settee, which is plush, and nice, and feels looser than he has in months.

“Are you well, Guy?”

“Mm,” he hums. “‘m great.” He’s perfect, in fact. The greatest he’s been since Luke died.

He blinks. That’s the first time he’s actually be able to admit to himself that Luke is, well, dead. He squints at his empty glass. “How drunk’ve you got me?” He glares accusingly at Peony, who shrugs.

Jade sighs. Guy doesn’t know where exactly he’s sighing from, because he can’t see him, but then a soft hand comes down to brush hair off of his forehead. Warm skin, guilty eyes. Guy’s not sure which is weirder -- the skin, probably. Guy knows at this point that Jade feels emotions just as surely as the rest of him; up until this point, he’d been less sure of the idea of the guy coming without gloves. His mind is sort of stuck on that, so instead of asking what, exactly, Jade is doing, what comes out of his mouth is “the gloves come off,” and the way Jade rolls his eyes tells Guy that yes, it sounds as stupid to everyone as it does to him.

Peony cackles. Jade pins him with an annoyed glare, and he trails off into wheezy silence.

“I must say, I did expect you to handle your liquor better,” Jade muses. “You really haven’t drunk all _that_ much.” Jade still sounds perfectly composed, which makes Guy wonder just how many of his drinks he’s actually _drunk._ At least one or two, he thinks, because there are telltale red spots high up on his cheeks, a flush trailing down his pale neck.

“Didn’ drink ‘n Baticul,” Guy confesses. “At first, was because of enemy territory. And then,” he falters. “An’ then I had to...to look after Luke. Couldn’t be drunk. In case he needed me. And...he always needed me.”

The room is spinning, but not because of the alcohol. Guy suddenly feels solidly, disgustingly sober. He’s cold, and he wants the numbness, the warm haze _back._

“Ah, _shit,”_ Peony mumbles. “Guy, come here. Lemme hug you. I’m gonna hug you.”

“Don’t want _you,”_ Guy hisses, but his voice breaks on the last word, and then he and Peony are both crying.

Peony apparently isn’t taking _no_ for an answer, because he forces himself, swaying, to his feet, and even if it takes him a while because he has to very gently move each rappig out of his way, he’s eventually collapsing down on the settee beside Guy and pulling him into his arms.

“You’re so sad,” he says mournfully. “You’re so sad _all the time,_ Guy. I can’t stand it.”

It’s hard to find his voice. “It’s either be sad,” he says finally, “or be angry. And Luke -- he --” _He wouldn’t want me to be angry._

“Worried about you,” Peony mumbles, and somewhere above them, Jade hums his agreement. “We’re all _sad._ You’re…” He trails off, seemingly unable to find the right words to complete that thought.

“I lost more than the rest of you,” Guy says simply. It’s not a competition, and he’s not trying to prove anything; it is, to him, just _true._ “The way you all knew Luke, it was...different. I - I _raised him,”_ Guy hisses. “I was there for it all, his first words, his first steps, every tantrum, every success, every failure. I’d stay with him while he slept on nights where he had nightmares. None of you ever, _ever_ knew the Luke that I knew.”

He’s being unfair, he knows, but it’s true. Back -- back after Akzeriuth, there’d been questioning looks and disbelief all around at his continued faith in Luke. They’d all ended up seeing Luke at his best, his absolute best, but none of them had ever seen enough of what had come before the worst to understand what had led him to that moment. Guy _had._

“You love him,” he says faintly. “But to you, he’s a friend you lost. To me, he’s…”

“Family,” Jade says softly, and blinking through tears, it’s all Guy can do to nod.

“Little bit of a brother, little bit of a son.” Guy laughs bitterly. “In a way, Luke was my everything, and now that he’s gone --”

Peony squeezes him, tight, and it cuts off the rest of Guy’s words as he suddenly struggles for breath. Jade’s hand make its way down to his chin, to tilt his head back, so he can meet hard red eyes.

“You,” Jade says, soft, but _firm,_ “do _not_ have _nothing.”_

Guy doesn’t remember how he gets back to his bed, but he presumes Jade has something to do with it. He wakes up cranky, hungover and raw, and stumbles through the day on autopilot, aching for his bed. He sort of notices how the people around him walk and talk to him carefully, as if the floor -- or he himself -- are made of glass, and he presumes it’s because no one wants to set off a still half-drunk noble.

It isn’t until he gets back to his quarters that evening that he sees a bouquet of flowers have been delivered there -- Natalia’s signature curls around the outside of the note, and it hits Guy, just what day it is today. He has to wonder if getting him too hungover to remember was Jade’s plan all along.

It’s been six months since Luke died.

Guy doesn’t sleep that night.

-x-

More months pass, and more letters arrive. Natalia’s come with more and more frequency, to the point where they’re arriving near daily. Any day now, Guy’s expecting to receive a morning letter _and_ an evening letter from her.

He still isn’t reading them, but he likes to imagine that, just like their amount is ever increasing, so too is Natalia’s frustration. She’s his friend, sure, but he’s wanted a little payback on her for all the trauma she’s inflicted on him over the years for forever.

He buries himself in work. If Luke was here, he’d be disappointed with him for drifting away from their friends, but it’s precisely _because_ Luke isn’t here that he just _can’t._

And then, there’s one letter he can’t ignore -- not because he doesn’t want to, but because Jade comes swooping into his office like a giant praying mantis on a mission.

“Can I help you?” Guy asks, as Jade makes his way over to Guy’s inbox tray and starts rifling through it.

“No,” Jade says easily, voice cheerful. “You know, it’s bad form to ignore official missives from Baticul.”

Guy raises a brow. “Excuse me?”

Lifting his hand from the tray, Jade holds a letter. He hands it to Guy -- the official royal seal of Baticul _is_ stamped onto the front. Guy frowns, and reaches for his letter opener.

“You know,” Jade begins, tone far too light and conversational for Guy to trust it, “the anniversary is coming up.”

Guy goes stiff, and cold, and knows immediately just what he holds in his hands, because how could he _ever_ forget.

Letter opener having only just barely pierced through the wax, Guy throws down the letter -- the _invitation_ \-- unopened. Jade raises a brow at him.

“I’m not going,” Guy says immediately. Jade’s brow inches higher. “I have better things to do than stand around Luke’s empty grave and listen to people who don’t know him preach empty words about what a hero he was. I --” He shakes his head. “I have other places to be.”

Jade’s gaze is unreadable. “Fair enough,” he says finally. “Take care, Guy.”

Guy stares at him as he leaves. “Yeah,” he says. “Uh, you too.”

Once he’s gone, Guy stares down at the invitation he’d thrown down, creased and crumpled where he’d suddenly gripped it tight.

It’s been a year since Luke had left behind the biggest mess of his life, and Guy still feels no closer to cleaning it up.

But, he thinks, thinking not of Luke’s empty grave, but of a field of moonlight flowers, maybe, just maybe, he’s ready to take the first step in _trying._


End file.
